Severed
by Jaclyn
Summary: Believing Marguerite to be dead, Challenger & Veronica drag Roxton out of the cave that's collapsed on his love...and back into the "real" world of London. Months later, Roxton still can't shake the feeling that Marguerite is alive. Now COMPLETE!
1. Prologue

  
  
"Severed" · A Prologue....stay tuned!  
~ Jaclyn (musicnotej@aol.com; http://www.geocities.com/tlwmr)  
  
Rated: PG-13  
  
Pairing: M/R  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own The Lost World; I believe New Line does. I'm not making any money off this....I just think it's fun :-)  
  
  


..·°·..·°·..·°·..·°·..·°·..

  
  
  
"GO!" Marguerite shouted fiercely.   
  
"I'm not leaving you here!" Roxton shouted back, rivulets of sweat streaming down his face like tears as he tried to pry the rocks apart with his bare hands.  
  
"John-"   
  
He could see her face in his head. She was using the voice she always used when she was in pain but didn't want to admit it. And she thought no one had figured it out, but he had - long ago. Barely noticeable lines would appear around her mouth, and the corners of her eyes would claim a tiny squint. Chin held high, Marguerite would speak in her usual way - or so it would appear, to anyone but him. He could detect every waver, every crack, every silently rasping breath.  
  
Roxton could feel her grimace now, could feel her tensed muscles tightening around his heart in a way that more literal than any scientist would have believed possible.  
  
The roar exploded from deep within his being. "_I won't let you die_!" A new rumbling shook the earth, but Roxton didn't fall. "_I love you_!"  
  
The cave shuddered again. Challenger and Veronica locked gazes, a silent agreement.  
  
Marguerite could feel the tears gathering with astounding rapidity under her grimy eyelids, not so much because of the jagged rocks that had torn into her, but because she had been hoping and waiting for those words for so long....and now she knew she couldn't say them back, because then Roxton would let himself die for her....  
  
"_GO_!" Marguerite shrieked, taking the pain that filled her broken body and converting it into energy by sheer force of unbreakable will. It felt like her lung was punctured, which worried her more than all her obviously broken bones combined. Even while she was breathing, she felt suffocated. The world was already blurring. The edges of her vision were swirling inward, black fingers that crept steadily toward her, that didn't care about the fact that she didn't deserve to die or her feelings for Roxton or how much she secretly longed for-  
  
Roxton opened his mouth to protest Marguerite's firm demand, but the sound of yet another avalanche behind the rock wall left him with his breath caught in his throat.  
  
There was the wretched sound of a terrified, pained shriek being abruptly, ominously cut off. A horrified expression on his face, John Roxton hurled himself the boulders again, his torn fingers scrabbling uselessly as the rough surface. "NO!" he howled, over and over, inconsolable. "_Marguerite_!" His grimy face was streaked with the footsteps of rapid tears. "We have to save her!" he wailed, pounding on the wall. "_Marguerite_!"  
  
"She couldn't have survived that, John," Challenger said softly, not bothering to control his own weeping. "I'm so sorry."  
  
"Marguerite," Veronica choked out, a moaning goodbye to the woman who had become like a sister to her. She bit down hard onto the hand that was clamped tightly over her trembling mouth. "Oh god…no…"  
  
Roxton spun violently around. "Liars, both of you!" he shouted manically. "She's still alive! I can feel her breathing! I can feel it!"  
  
Challenger placed a steadying hand on Roxton's shoulder. "There are some things even today's modern science can't save. A body mangled under _that_," Challenger angled his jaw, "is one of them."  
  
"She-"  
  
Silently, solemnly, Challenger's fist shot out to knock Roxton swiftly unconscious. The middle-aged man sagged under the burden of a rather tall adult, but the weight of a dead Marguerite pressed even more heavily on his chest. Challenger looked down at Roxton. "I'm sorry, old friend," he said, his voice brittle and tired. "For all of us. But mostly for you."  
  
Veronica stumbled over, her stifled crying emerging as strange, hiccup-like gasps. Challenger stared bleakly at her.   
  
"You did the right thing, Challenger."  
  
"You shouldn't bite down so hard, Veronica. You've made yourself bleed."  
  
"It doesn't matter. I don't feel it anyway."  
  
Their voices echoed in the semi-darkness. Conversation sounded disjointed, wrong. Each felt very, very alone.  
  
"We need to get out of here before the whole thing collapses on us, too."  
  
"Roxton won't like it. He'll want to die with her." Veronica couldn't tear her eyes from him. Even in oblivion, the hunter's face was twisted in pain.  
  
"I won't be responsible for his death as well."  
  
"This isn't your fault, Challenger."  
  
"I found this cave!"  
  
"Stop it! We can't talk about it now! I'll grab his legs; on the count of three we'll run."  
  
"I can't believe Marguerite survived all these treacherous years only to die on the brink of-"  
  
The ground beneath them was vibrating increasingly harder now. "One…two…three!"  
  
Roxton woke a few minutes later to the intense sunlight cutting his face. He scrambled to his feet, pushing the comforting arms of his friends away. Whirling around, he drew a horrified breath at what confronted him. The cave had collapsed entirely. What used to be the entranceway was now a mound of rubble, no higher than his waist.  
  
Lord John Roxton fell to his knees and sobbed.  
  
  


..·°·..·°·..·°·..·°·..·°·..

  
_To Be Continued...._  
  
  
Feedback is craved and appreciated....especially since this is my first TLW fic!! I just discovered the show, and now I'm newly obsessed because of the incredible interaction between Marguerite and Roxton! *melts*   
  
~ Jaclyn (musicnotej@aol.com; http://www.geocities.com/tlwmr)  
  



	2. Part II

**Severed, Part II**  
By Jaclyn  
_(musicnotej@aol.com; http://www.geocities.com/tlwmr)_  
  


Disclaimer: In a shocking turn of events, it has been discovered that I DON'T own these characters! Can you believe it?! Sources have been whispering that The Lost World and all characters/places/stuff contained therein actually belong to Telescene, New Line, and all the rest. Oh yeah, and yesterday I read on the internet that I'm not making any profit off this story! Isn't that absurd?!  
  
Author's Notes: Whoa, sorry about the huge delay, people! Really, my apologies. It's just that I had the idea for this story *very* long ago - it was my first M/R idea EVER. The problem was it occurred to me during a very hectic two weeks, and so I was only able to write it _in my head_ while I was supposed to be doing other things, lol. I never got a chance to actually type it up until now, almost a month later. And so, my muse has sort of moved on to other things (like the four other fics I posted in the interim). Still, I *do* want to get this story down and I'm not gonna leave you hanging with a prologue that created a lot of questions but no answers so-here's Part II! Enjoy!  
  
Oh wait. One more important note: Malone doesn't seem to exist in this story, so let's just assume he's still happily ensconced in the spirit world. I haven't seen all the third season episodes, so I don't know the reason behind his current disappearance (and I DON'T WANT TO - if anyone even *tries* to give me the slightest *hint* I will throw the _hugest_ fit that you have ever seen. Basically....I don't like spoilers. *clears throat* Sorry if I sounded a little heated there....).  
  
Note #3: Let's just say this story takes place after "The Secret." M and R haven't admitted their feelings outright for each other yet, and they've never said the words "I love you." Um, if any of this is wrong, it means I haven't seen that ep....[insert spoiler rant here].  
  
  


***

  
  
  
_Roxton - one week after returning to London_  
  
His room was dark, silent. Uninviting and cold. Roxton let himself fall heavily on the freshly-made bed, compliments of one of the many maids that scuttled around his mother's household. It had been years since an unseen someone had done anything for him; he'd almost gone to seek out the servant and thank her, but then he remembered that they were considered 'lower' than him, and that speaking to them - especially words of gratitude - was just not done.  
  
The injustice of it. His own mother, for all her grandeur and airs, could have been a maid had she been born to a poverty-stricken family. London society was so twisted, so one-sided.  
  
He hated it.  
  
_Funny_, Roxton mused, although of course the thought wasn't really humorous at all. _After getting stranded on the plateau, all we did was try to get back to London. And now we're here, and I'm once again stranded and trying to get home._  
  
On impulse, he opened a window and leaned out into the cool night air. "Marguerite. Marguerite, can you hear me? I love you. Marguerite?"  
  
There was no answer. Roxton's face crumpled. As far-fetched as it sounded, he had actually been hoping for an answer - the plateau had already blessed them with the link to her he felt in his soul, would one more miracle be so much to ask?  
  
Sighing heavily, Roxton withdrew back to the weighty darkness of his room, leaving the dim and ethereal glow of the streetlights and stars behind. He was so wrapped up in his grief that he nearly stopped breathing.  
  
  


***

  
  
  
_Marguerite - one week after being nearly killed by the rockslide_  
  
Consciousness came slowly to Marguerite, a fragile thread that slowly wove itself into a full tapestry of alertness. As disoriented as she was, she still knew that she was nowhere familiar. Marguerite jerked into a sitting position, frightened and woozy.  
  
She immediately collapsed back onto the pallet, the fingers of Pain itself clawing at her from the inside. Her lungs were on fire; every nerve in her body cried out. Marguerite could feel splints cutting harshly into her skin. Experimentally, she tried to flex her right arm.  
  
A horrible scream echoed through the small hut, shrill and clear and agonized. Hers? Marguerite wasn't sure; she hadn't purposely screamed, but then there was no one else around who could have done it for her. Willing it all to just go away, she tried to stand and stumble toward the door, but her broken body simply refused to obey her. The floor rushed up to greet her; sprawled on the dirt, she broke into sobs.   
  
"Roxton!" Marguerite shrieked. A terrible sense of foreboding stole over her. She couldn't remember where the hunter was, but something inside was warning her that she didn't want to. "John," she whispered, staring helplessly at the ceiling. "I need you...."  
  
The world swirled, and Marguerite found herself grateful for the reprieve from pain that she knew was coming. How smart her body was, to know how to slip into unconsciousness like that! Her addled brain was so busy marveling over this that she didn't register the entrance of three solemn figures. And when arms like iron suddenly wrapped themselves around her, all she knew was that they weren't Roxton's. Fear tightened her stomach.   
  
"JOHN!" she moaned weakly, wanting to break free. Why weren't her arms moving? Marguerite cast her eyes downward. A wave of revulsion swept over her. Her body was a tapestry of gashes and mottled purple-green skin. The edges of the wounds were brittle, stained brown with dried blood, and yet they were clean.  
  
Marguerite felt herself being laid gently back on the bed. She didn't struggle, having finally placed a label on her 'captors.'  
  
"John?" she whispered desperately. "Where is he?"  
  
"Shhh," Assai soothed. "Sleep now." The Zanga woman pressed a pungent-smelling leaf to Marguerite's nose, commanding darkness to embrace her. Whimpering, Marguerite succumbed.  
  
  


***

  
  
  
_Roxton - one month after returning to London_  
  
Roxton leapt up, grabbing his rifle and aiming at the sudden noise that had woken him. This instinctive reaction happened so quickly that Roxton didn't even register that the intruder was his _mother_ until it was too late. She was already glaring daggers at him.  
  
"JOHN!" Lady Elizabeth Roxton fumed. "I told you I never wanted to see that thing! You aren't in the wilderness anymore; in polite society, men don't sleep with their rifles like cowards afraid of monsters under the bed."  
  
"Well, pardon me, _Mother_," Roxton gritted out. "But old habits are hard to break. On the plateau, keeping a rifle close at hand also kept you ALIVE!"  
  
"That's exactly what I came here to talk to you about, John. You've been entirely too wrapped up in your....I don't know what to call it....attachment to that jungle of yours, and that _woman_-"  
  
"That _woman_ has a _name_. MARGUERITE." He could barely look at the-the cow in front of him. Elizabeth Roxton had never done an honest day's work in her life, as could be deduced easily by her rather sizeable bulk. Her face was creased in a permanent sneer, a sort of pictorial message: 'I am better than you.' She was shallow, caring not about _people_, but about their reputations. As a boy, John had never given his mother's arrogance a thought - it was the way of things. But now....he could barely tolerate it. How he yearned to be away from her!   
  
"And do stop with that condescending tone; it's getting tiresome," Roxton continued, still clutching his gun in an iron grip.  
  
Lady Roxton stepped back theatrically as if struck. "How you speak to your elders, John! You aren't fit to carry the family name!" she hissed. "First that horrible business with your brother, and now, when you could be returning triumphant with tales of bravery and adventure, you sit in your room and sulk! Honestly, I don't believe you've left these dark corners since you returned home! You're a disgrace to our honor! Do you know what everyone is saying? Talk has it that you're a coward and a fool, and I refuse to allow your childishness to reflect as a blemish on _me_!"  
  
Roxton just stared at her. The woman really was heartless. She didn't give a damn that he was slowly dying inside, that he yearned for Marguerite with an intensity that was nearly suffocating him.  
  
"Lady Roxton," he said finally, not able to force the word 'Mother' past his lips. He spoke with a new formality; it was the only way to reign in his anger and despair. "I can no longer live here anymore. By lunchtime I will be out of your sight for good, and you can disown me for all I care. Then you will no longer have any sons left, and it will up to you to keep the family name clear of 'blemishes,' something that I'm sure you'll have no problem ensuring. It is, after all, how you've spent, or shall I say _wasted_, your life."  
  
Roxton turned away from her. The white knuckles that gripped his gun were the only sign of the emotion that roiled within him.   
  
"John Roxton," he heard from behind him. "You aren't _fit_ to be my son. Consider yourself disowned! I will draw up the paperwork tomorrow. You needn't share the location of your new area of residence with me. Goodbye."  
  
She walked stiffly out the room, the scent of her garish perfume lingering behind her. Something strange happened then, something that hadn't happened in a long time....  
  
John burst out laughing. The sound of his sheer relief filled the room, and John sensed the aroma of new freedom overtaking his mother's perfume.  
  
The solution was so obvious to him now. Why had he allowed himself to sink deeper and deeper into grief when he was just wasting time? The Challenger Expedition had found the plateau once; they could find it again!  
  
  


***

  
  
  
_Roxton - three months after returning to London_  
  
"No." It was his own voice, angry and firm. Roxton was startled at how strong he sounded.  
  
"Roxton, come on--"  
  
He batted Challenger's hand away and got to his feet. "No one gives me orders, George."  
  
"Roxton, you damn fool, listen to me! I'm trying to help you!"  
  
"Yeah? Then why are you wasting time here? Go take your contraptions and find me a way back to the plateau," Roxton snapped, his tone scalding but serious.  
  
"John....this isn't healthy. A way back won't help anything, you know that."  
  
"I only know one thing, Challenger, and it's that she's still alive."  
  
"You also know that if Veronica and I believed there was any chance at all of her surviving, we wouldn't have deserted her!"  
  
"Fine, I'll give you that," Roxton conceded. "But you have got to admit that many strange things have happened on that plateau, things neither of us would have believed possible before we got there. And I'm telling you, I'm not crazy when I tell you that Marguerite is _alive_!"  
  
"Roxton, this delusion isn't healthy....when I told them to postpone the press conference three months ago, I had honestly assumed that you'd be past the denial stage by the end of that! Thousands of people are going to be at that hall tomorrow, John, and I won't let you make a fool of yourself! You need to go, but you also need to be rational!"  
  
"No, I _don't_ need to go. It's your damn dream to be famous, not mine. I once swore to myself that when we made our triumphant return to London, I'd ask Marguerite to spend the rest of our lives together. And now I'm here and she's there. And I _never_ renege on a promise, George. So that's quite a little dilemma I've gotten myself into, wouldn't you agree?"  
  
"Your biggest dilemma, old friend, is that you won't accept reality!"  
  
Roxton's face hardened. "Listen to me. I'm not crazy. This isn't just false hope. I _know_ she's alive, George. The only thing I can think of is that, somewhere along the line, between sacred rituals and magical caves, we became linked somehow. Now I've spent three months amassing the huge sum of money we'll need to mount a return expedition to the plateau. I'd like for you and Veronica to come, but I'll go alone if I have to."  
  
Challenger took a deep, steadying breath. His brow creased; thinking had never been this hard before. The intricacies of science came naturally to him, but this-this dilemma had no easy answer. There was no law of nature that could give him the answer he sought. Should he stay by his friend's side, furthering a quest that would ultimately lead to more heartbreak when, after having his hopes raised, John Roxton would find them dashed once and for all? For as much as it pained George, Marguerite was dead. There was nothing any of them could do. Human bones just weren't strong enough to withstand the weight of so many tons of boulders. And even if, by some phenomenon, she'd managed to survive the initial rockslide - if the boulders had fallen in a way that didn't crush her, that left her a bubble of air - she wouldn't be able to free herself without help. And everyone who had known of her location was now safely in London! Challenger could only hope she'd died quickly instead of slowly dying of blood loss or suffocation or thirst....  
  
He shuddered. On the other hand, the only thing that appeared to be keeping John alive was _hope_. George had no right to shatter that now. Let the man live out his delusions; maybe, somewhere along the way, he would come to accept reality on his own. But until he did, George Challenger would not desert him!  
  
The furrows in Challenger's brow disappeared. "You can count me in, old friend," he said, his voice laden with emotion. "What kind of man would I be if I deserted you now?"  
  
"And Marguerite," Roxton reminded him. "You're doing this as much for Marguerite as for me."  
  
"Of course," Challenger assured him. "Of course I am."  
  
  


***

  
  
  
_Roxton - the next day_  
  
Veronica ran into the room with a delighted shriek. "ROXTON!" She threw her arms around his neck. "I'm so glad you're here! I missed you so much - I never realized how attached I'd gotten to you, you big lug! You were like my brother all along, and I never realized it until I didn't see you for a quarter of year."  
  
Roxton grinned broadly at her. "I could say the same to you." He loosened the hug, then stepped away entirely to he could see her better. "Oh my god, Veronica, you're wearing CLOTHES!"  
  
She twirled for him, giddy at seeing a part of her makeshift family once again. "I'm still not entirely used to being so confined, but I'm getting there." Her tone grew serious. "Listen, Roxton, _how are you_? I tried to find you a few months ago but you had moved, and no one knew to where. Are you holding up okay?"  
  
He swiped a hand roughly across his mouth and chin, a habitual gesture that illustrated his discomfort. "Well," he said carefully. "I'm better than I've been in months. Which actually has to do with the reason I came."  
  
"You need a reason to see your 'sister?' Veronica said lightly. But inside, she was worried sick. She knew Marguerite's death had not been easy for him; in fact, that was putting it lightly. It had disturbed her greatly when she'd discovered that no one knew where he was for two months. It was a thought she would never admit to, but she had feared that Roxton becoming a recluse might also mean he had become deeply depressed and maybe even suicidal.  
  
"I'm going back to the Plateau." The abruptness of his statement startled Veronica out of her thoughts.   
  
"I'm coming with you," she answered, just as quickly. "Of course I'm coming with you. I will never be completely happy in London....sometimes I wake up and, for a moment, I think I'm still in the treehouse....and when I realize I'm not, my heart nearly breaks. As much as I love my new family, they will never mean as much to me as you guys."  
  
"Even Marguerite?"  
  
"Of course that includes her....she may not....be here anymore, but she was still my sister, just as you're my brother. We're a family, Roxton, we stand by each other. Of course I'm coming with you," Veronica repeated solemnly.  
  
"Exactly, Veronica, we stand by each other, and that's exactly why I need to do this. I'm going to find Marguerite."  
  
Veronica stared at him. "You mean....her body? For burial? Roxton, it's a little late for that. I don't think it's still-"  
  
"Marguerite is alive, Veronica."  
  
She winced. _Oh no...._ "No, Roxton, Marguerite died three months ago." _As harsh as that sounds, he needs to face it_.  
  
"Veronica, I'm telling you with utter certainty that she's alive and well, and probably making a sarcastic remark to Assai or an apeman or god-knows-who at this very moment."  
  
Veronica's eyes widened. She wanted to believe him. He looked so sure. _Or so crazy?_ Dreamlike, her legs brought her to the plush couch against the wall, and she sat down heavily. "How do you know?"  
  
"I just....know."   
  
Veronica began to shake her head sadly. Roxton leaped forward, kneeling in front of her and grabbing her hands. "Listen to me! I thought you of all people would at least keep at open mind! You know that strange things can happen on the plateau, things that aren't possible anywhere else. I'm telling you that Marguerite and I are linked somehow. I can feel her heart beating next to mine. _She's alive_, Veronica. Now all we have to do is find her."  
  
"You're....sure?" Veronica asked slowly. So badly did she want his words to be true, she almost felt herself believing him.  
  
"Yes." His dark eyes stared, unblinking, into hers. He didn't look delusional; in fact, he looked a lot like Challenger did back when they used to laugh at his latest inventions - inventions that tended to work once he'd built them. So maybe....just maybe....  
  
"You know what, Roxton? I think I believe you," she pronounced slowly. "So when do we leave?"  
  
Roxton whooped. "I knew I could count on you!" He turned his face to the window. "We're coming for you, Marguerite! Just you hang in there!" He added a silent internal rush of love to the message, then looked back at Veronica, who was regarding him with a somewhat amused expression on her face.   
  
"The two of you never cease to amaze me," she said softly. "In the beginning you couldn't manage a civil conversation. Now you're linked at the soul."  
  
  


***

  
  
  
_TO BE CONTINUED_  
(but much quicker this time, as the next chapter will be much more fun to write than this one!)  
  
  
If you can tell that this chapter was rather hastily cobbled together, do let me know. I figured I'd been procrastinating long enough, so I just took all the bits and pieces that I'd written and wrote the scenes in between so that it would make sense to those of you not living in my head (heehee). I just wanted to get it done with already though so that I could move on to the INTERESTING chapters. I realize this one was sorta blah, not a lot of action or spice or ANYTHING really except a lot of moping around, but it was necessary. If I hadn't given you this to sit through, wanna know how much sense the rest of the story would have made? ZERO.  
  
I hope you enjoyed it anyway though....I read it over again and I guess I kind of like it....but if you felt it was somewhat of a letdown compared to the prologue, do bear with me. Don't lose faith just yet.... [Um, I'm somewhat out of it right now; it's really rather hot in my room - think 'volcanic' - and I think my brain is melting. If I sound a bit crazy....well, at least I have something resembling an excuse.]  
  



	3. Part III

  


**Severed, Part III**  
By Jaclyn  
_(musicnotej@aol.com; http://www.geocities.com/tlwmr)_  
  


Disclaimer: In a shocking turn of events, it has been discovered that I DON'T own these characters! Can you believe it?! Sources have been whispering that The Lost World and all characters/places/stuff contained therein actually belong to Telescene, New Line, and all the rest. Oh yeah, and yesterday I read on the internet that I'm not making any profit off this story! Isn't that absurd?!  
  
Author's Notes: Once again, sorry for the huge delay....I had honestly thought this part would be posted sooner than the last....but RL was so crazyhecticstressful that I just didn't have time to finish it....  
  
Note #2: I realize the beginning of this chapter seems very similar to the last one, but just bear with me because that whole part needs to be said, and then the real fun can begin, lol! The middle is when it gets really interesting. Well, in my opinion anyway....lol!  
  
Note #3: I've never seen Assai or Jarl in my life so I have no idea how they act/talk/look or anything like that....I only know they exist because I've read about them in fic....  
  
Note #4: Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to my faithful reviewers!! You know who you are....I love you!!! *hug*   
  
  


***

  
  
  
_Marguerite - two weeks after being nearly killed by the rockslide  
    (please note - this part takes place before the end of the previous chapter,
  
    which was Roxton three months after the rockslide)
  
  
- twilight -_  
  
The Zanga village was always at its most peaceful during the evening. The inhabitants would retreat to their huts and spend some completely work-free time - precious in its rarity - with their loved ones. Other than the gentle chiming of laughter or the soft murmur of voices that one would hear if they got too close to another's tent, the little town fell into a complete hush. It was everyone's favorite time of day.  
  
And then, suddenly, a horrified scream shattered the stillness.   
  
In the shadow of her thatched roof, Assai broke the kiss and rested her forehead against Jarl's. "Oh no, not again..." she muttered. She stood up, tracing his jaw line, smiling craftily. "Don't go anywhere...."  
  
"I wouldn't want to be anywhere but here," Jarl said softly, moving his head to kiss her fingers. "Hurry back...."  
  
She nodded, already running out of the hut. "Marguerite!"  
  
Although she was resting in the warm glow of a fire, Marguerite looked anything but serene. Her eyes were wild, and her whole body shook. "I remember!" she cried shrilly.  
  
"Oh Marguerite...." Assai whispered, kneeling down next to the distraught woman and wrapping her in a hug. "I am so sorry...."  
  
"It's still fuzzy....but I remember a rockslide....I was screaming; I didn't want to lose him....I was so....scared....telling him to run....but he said....he wouldn't leave me....which is what I've always wanted him to say, but not like that....now I'm here and I don't see him anywhere....please tell me he's just recovering in another tent, Assai. Because if he's not....then it's my fault he's dead. Is he dead?"   
  
Assai remained silent, not knowing what to say to the hysterical woman beside her.  
  
"NO!" Marguerite shrieked. "NO NO NO _NOOOO_....please.....no, I don't believe you! NO!!" Crying so hard she could barely see, Marguerite struck out at the nearest thing to her -- Assai. The Zanga woman, near tears herself, was forced to grab Marguerite's wrists rather roughly to stop the blows that were raining on her own head.  
  
Marguerite stopped struggling. The strength had drained from her body. Just as she'd always feared it would, her love of Roxton had made her weak. But at the moment, she really didn't give a damn about appearances. Unable to manage anything else, Marguerite let her head fall against Assai's shoulder. She sobbed uncontrollably until her weakened body could take it no longer, and then she passed out, as much from emotional agony as from physical pain.  
  
  


***

  
  
  
_- midnight -_  
  
Assai nestled closer to her lover. "Jarl," she whispered to the near-sleeping man.   
  
"Mmmm...." he mumbled.  
  
"Promise you'll never leave me. Promise you'll stay here always and won't take anymore risks that could get you killed. Promise me you'll never go into another cave as long as you live...."  
  
That woke him up. He knew where this was coming from. Jarl tightened his arms around her. "Oh Assai, my darling, my joy....you know I can't promise you that with utter certainty. But I swear to you, I will do my absolute best. I love you....now let me hear you promise the same thing...."  
  
"I love you too....and I will do everything in power to always be here, to never leave you...." Assai repeated seriously, then began to cry against his chest. "Oh god, Jarl, it's so hard for her, and she's always been so strong....I just keep thinking....if that were me, would I survive it?"  
  
"I hope we never find out...." he kissed her gently on the lips. "Try to sleep now."  
  
  


***

  
  
  
The next morning, Marguerite woke with a new thought racing through her mind. "Assai!" she called excitedly.  
  
The woman in question appeared a moment later, wondering what could possibly have caused the happiness in Marguerite's voice. Perhaps she'd found some token of Roxton's among the pile of supplies and other possessions the Zanga hunting party had found in that fatal cave? "What is it?"  
  
"Isn't it possible...." Marguerite began, her eyes shining with a new hope. "That Roxton -- and the others -- are alive....only on the other side of the rockslide? Couldn't they have run? The cave had an opening on the other side; we hadn't reached it yet, but we saw the light. He didn't want to go when I told him to, but the others would have made him! I know they would have! He's alive....it will just be a matter of time before I can see him again. But he'll be doing his best to get back, I know he will."  
  
"Marguerite....it's impossible to clear all those rocks away. The entire cave has collapsed, not just a section of it. If he....is....alive, as you say," Assai forged on, trying to hide her doubt for the other woman's sake, "it may be impossible for the two of you to be reunited."  
  
"I *know* the cave won't work anymore, silly! But even if I don't know where Roxton is, he knows where *I* am, so the ball's in his court now, so to speak. He'll be trying to find me. I can feel it. He's alive, Assai....something inside me....I'm sure of it. _Roxton is alive_." Marguerite glowed with excitement. Yesterday she had been deathly pale, but now her cheeks had taken on a new pinkish flush.  
  
For a moment, Assai no longer saw the myriad of bandages and waxy-looking salves that dotted Marguerite's torn skin - for a moment, she allowed herself to be swept up in the older woman's excitement....  
  
But then she saw Marguerite's lips thin and the muscles of her jaw tighten in an effort to keep a whimper of pain in. Tentatively, the displaced heiress brought a hand up to her head. "Damn concussion," she muttered.  
  
"Your body is still weakened," Assai said kindly. "Hope will do you good. But try not to think too much about the prospects of the future, for they are always unknown and it isn't good to work yourself up over a possibility that may never occur. Just try to think peaceful thoughts and your body will recover more quickly."  
  
Marguerite sighed. "I don't care if you don't believe me. I've never felt the need to have other people supporting my opinions. But it isn't an opinion in this case. I *know* he is alive." Her voice, feeding on the emotion her words evoked, strengthened. "Yes, it sounds odd, but if I told someone from my world that dinosaurs still existed, they would think the same thing. Too impossible to be true....but Assai....it _is_."  
  
  


***

  
  
  
_Marguerite - five months after nearly being killed by the rockslide. She is now fully recovered and living on her own in the treehouse. Having a developed a daily routine, she now does *everybody's* chores but no longer complains - her ordeal has served to sober her up a bit, although she hasn't changed *that* much. Marguerite visits Assai and the other Zanga quite often, and is still known as an outspoken, sarcastic woman - but with a very kind heart. She thinks of John often, but tries not to get emotional unless she's alone. Sometimes, alone in bed at night, she cries._  
  
Just like every day on the plateau, it started out like a normal morning. Marguerite was sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor, carefully cleaning John's guns. Thank goodness the group hadn't taken all the weapons with them on that fateful day, or Marguerite would have found herself in quite a predicament!   
  
She rubbed some more oil on the faded rag, smiling softly at it. Years ago, it had been part of one of Roxton's shirts, but after being badly torn - she couldn't even remember how; their clothes got ruined so often that the individual incidents no longer stuck out in her mind - it had been relegated to cleaning duties.  
  
The image of Roxton doing the task she was doing now filled her mind. She could see him so clearly in her mind: sprawled in the floor, humming softly to himself as he maintained his beloved guns. She had often teased him mercilessly about it, only to be mocked in return - something about her passion for looking at rocks under magnifying glasses.  
  
Smiling fondly, Marguerite allowed herself to remember how those particular 'arguments' tended to end, especially if the other occupants of the treehouse were out....  
  
  
  
** "Roxton!" she had called, after reheating the leftovers Veronica had set out last night. "Dinner is served!" she continued with the flourish of a French accent.  
  
There was no answer. She frowned slightly. "You know," Marguerite snapped, rather loudly. "This doesn't happen too often - I've actually prepared an edible meal. I did a really nice job of warming it up, and I *wanted* to share it with you, but if you're going to ignore me than maybe I'll just go over there and dump this lovely pot of hot soup on your HEAD!"  
  
Still no answer. With a sigh, Marguerite grabbed a dish towel and made her way to his room. Entering, she whacked him on the head with the damp material.   
  
Roxton jumped. "Hmm? What?"  
  
Marguerite shook her head ruefully. "Men!"  
  
She bent and grabbed the oily rag away from him. "Unless you want to eat *this* for dinner, - and trust me, I will NOT make that a pleasant experience - I suggest you follow me to the kitchen and shower me with compliments over the fine meal I've prepared." Her voice was deadly; the threat was clear.  
  
Roxton smiled broadly. Like a child who'd found his favorite toy, he loved this game! "Why Marguerite, I think you're jealous!"  
  
She looked at him like he'd grown another head. "Jealous? Of WHO? There's no one HERE but you and me!"  
  
"And my guns....whom I've been lavishing attention on while you slaved away over a hot fire," Roxton shot back with an impish grin.  
  
She smacked him with the dish towel again, this time on his chest. "You're out of your mind."  
  
In reality, he had hit rather close to home, and Marguerite steeled her expression so he wouldn't see it.  
  
"No, actually, Marguerite, I know exactly how you feel....I've often felt neglected too while you scrutinize those glittery little rocks of yours....especially when I know we could be having so much more fun *together* if you'd only tear yourself away from that damn magnifying glass for one minute...." he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.  
  
"Only a minute?" she played along. "My my, you must be *very* talented to be such a quick worker."   
  
Her boldness made his breath catch. Roxton slid closer to her, then tugged on her hand in one sudden movement, making her topple out of her kneeling position and onto her bottom.  
  
"HEY!" she cried, but she didn't yank her hand away. In fact, her other hand moved to draw lazy patterns on his chest.  
  
"We could always reheat the soup," he whispered in her ear.  
  
"I might have a minute to spare...." she hinted back.  
  
Roxton smiled broadly at her, and she returned the favor. Their heads moved closer, closer-  
  
The elevator creaked.  
  
"Not again," they both groaned simultaneously.   
  
Marguerite rested her forehead against his, a gesture that had come to mean regret....but also a promise: later.  
  
"Finish up with your guns," she sighed. "I'll go play welcoming committee for the rest of our darling family."  
  
Roxton's thumb traced her jaw line. He said nothing, but he didn't need to. The look in his eyes was enough.  
  
  
  
** _Only a moment_, she told herself firmly. _If you think about it too long...._  
  
It was a warning she repeated to herself endlessly. It was best not to dwell too long on what she had lost. One day he would return for her, she knew, but until that day....best not to lose herself in grief.  
  
Well, on her better days, she actually listened to herself. But there was no need to think about those rainy nights when the world seemed to encourage her to cry, when she would allow herself to sink deeper and deeper into her grief, when she would be plagued by nightmares and her eyes would become gritty and itchy from constantly shedding tears....  
  
_No. It's too nice a day to ruin it with thoughts like that....maybe I'll go take a walk later; the sun hasn't been out like this for quite a few days already._  
  
Marguerite picked up the rag that, only a moment ago, in her memory at least, had been in Roxton's large hand. She resumed cleaning the rifle, but a minute later, her head jerked up at the small thud she'd heard directly overhead.  
  
Her brow wrinkled. "Footsteps?! On the ROOF?!" She stood up hastily, her eyes darting searchingly around the treehouse that had started to seem too large of late.  
  
There was a whistling sound behind her, like the shrieking a whip makes when slicing the air. Sure enough, there was a thick brown rope hanging down over the balcony and into the treehouse. Stifling a gasp, Marguerite bent to snatch her rifle-  
  
"Freeze!" a deep voice shouted.  
  
Ignoring him, Marguerite made one last desperate grab for the weapon a few feet to her left.  
  
"I mean it!" There was the click of a gun being readied. Something in the voice reminded Marguerite of a tone she had once employed often. A no-nonsense warning.  
  
With a heavy sigh, she straightened, defenseless, to look the intruder in the eye.  
  
"Cooperate," he said firmly, his clear blue eyes shining with exhilaration. Marguerite remembered that feeling too. "And I won't harm you."  
  
"How very generous of you," she snapped dryly. "Now I have a proposal for YOU - leave, and I won't kill you."  
  
The man tossed his long chestnut hair and tapped his gun pointedly. Marguerite noted with a slight hint of annoyance that he underestimated her because she was a woman - although she'd used this type of error to her advantage many times in the past, it still ticked her off.   
  
She rolled her eyes. The skinny, twenty-something year old didn't exactly inspire fear to blossom in her heart. "What exactly do you want?"  
  
"Well, actually, I want quite a lot of things - although it would be rather impossible for me to find them all here. Not a problem though, I'm still young, I've got plenty of time."  
  
"My my, someone is certainly fond of their own voice...." Marguerite remarked. "Would you just get on with it already? Are you here to rob me, or what?"  
  
The man's face split into a wide, boyish grin. "Now you *are* a brilliant one, aren't you?"  
  
She snorted disgustedly. "Lemme give you a little tip, kid. I've got much more experience than you in this sort of thing, and you are doing it all wrong....you have to act larger than life, you have to tower over me and glare and frown....you have to frighten me! And you have to move quickly so that I don't have time to whack you over the head with a skillet or something - I had the dubious pleasure of having that done to me once, and trust me, you don't want to experience it."  
  
The stranger narrowed his eyes are her. "You're a thief too?"  
  
Marguerite snorted. "Now *that's* the understatement of the millennium. What I've been, little boy, is more than you could ever imagine. Now get out of here already, I'm starting to get bored."  
  
He advanced, gun still cocked threateningly at her. "I fear we've both underestimated the other one. I *know* how to be intimidating, I just didn't want to lower myself to scaring innocent women. But now that you've proven yourself to be a whole lot more than a naïve little miss, my sweetness is apparently unnecessary." And true to his word, his face hardened into a purposeful expression.  
  
Marguerite glared at him as he aimed the gun between her eyes. "Little overbearing bastard," she muttered. "I must be getting soft in my old age not to have predicted that."   
  
"OLD? That's certainly not the word I'd choose....a little worse for wear, perhaps," he remarked, eyeing the scars on her temple and chest.   
  
"HEY! Keep your eyes to yourself, kid!" Marguerite snarled, reaching for the nearest object and cracking him on the head with a plate, the element of surprise and unexpectedness on her side. The porcelain shattered, but he didn't black out.   
  
"HEY!" he mimicked. "Don't try that again. I have an extremely hard head, but I won't be as forgiving next time." He grabbed her hair, pulling her toward him, and shoved the gun against her neck. "Enough games. Now let's go take a visit to your valuables, eh?"  
  
"Go to hell," she choked out, struggling for breath, vainly clawing at his forearms. He immediately loosened his grasp.  
  
"Oh....sorry," he said, his voice reverting to a gentler tone. "I'm used to dealing with beefy men....it didn't occur to me to take into consideration that your neck is going to be a lot more fragile...."   
  
Once her powers of respiration returned, Marguerite opened her mouth to launch into a long tirade about the rudeness of him, but he insightfully cut her off before she could start. "I said no more games. Now take me to your bedroom."  
  
Grumbling, she led him to Veronica's room. He took one look around and said, "One more trick and I really won't be so considerate anymore. If you were a man, you'd probably be dead already."  
  
"You're a horrible liar," Marguerite informed him. She knew a bluffer when she saw one. He nudged her on with the gun, peering into the rest of the unlived rooms as they passed.   
  
It wasn't that the rooms had been tidied up exceptionally or anything like that....it was just they had taken on a sort of static feel, as if they were frozen in time. He couldn't explain it, but it made him uncomfortable. "Your bedroom. Now."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, yeah...." she mumbled. "Men. Always so impatient." She completely disregarded the fact that she herself had a reputation for impatience.  
  
He ignored her.  
  
When they approached her doorway, Marguerite whirled around suddenly and hurled herself at him, hoping to knock him to the ground and wrench the gun away. Cursing a blue streak in a quick succession of languages he'd never even heard of, she rained blows onto his lean body.  
  
Grunting, he tensed his muscles to absorb the punches while trying to grab her wrists. She was growing frustrated by her lack of progress - he could tell by her expression.  
  
"You're actually a lot stronger than you look," he grunted.  
  
"So....are....you," she panted.  
  
A moment later, he finally subdued her. Wild curly hair framed her flushed, wild-eyed face as she stared at him, backed up against a wall. Her face twisted.  
  
"I've had enough of these games too," she gritted out.  
  
And then she spat in his face.  
  
He slapped her cheek, hard. Both their eyes widened in surprise and shock at his ungentlemanly actions.   
  
But when he ripped his gaze away from the red, handprint-shaped bruise on her skin, his eyes were dark and angry. "No one spits at me," he said heatedly through clenched teeth. "That was the last straw. Now this *really* isn't a game anymore."  
  
Marguerite sensed the new hostility directed at her and wisely kept her mouth shut. But no amount of self control was able to curb the loathing stare she fixed on him.  
  
The intruder jerked Marguerite into the bedroom with him and warned her to keep her hands where he could see them. She complied wordlessly. _Could this day get any better? Could my *life* get any better? First I lose what's most important to me in this entire world, and just when I'm finally getting a grip and learning to cope....now this stupid little wisp of a kid - with hidden muscles, no less, unfortunately for me - is going to take away my *second* most prized possessions. Well, isn't this just peachy...._   
  
The gun still pointed directly at her, he twisted his body to get a full view of the room. "Good lord ," he said. "What's a rich woman like you doing in the middle of a jungle?" He smirked at her. "Well, in just a few short minutes....that question will no longer be valid." He reached for a large ruby necklace.  
  
"Hey!" she cried. "Leave that ALONE!" Once again employing the only tactic at her disposal, Marguerite grabbed a hairbrush and flung it at him, her pride stinging.  
  
He laughed, able to see through her bravado as just a show - the real fight had gone out of her already. He waved the gun at her. Suddenly, his eye fell on her bed, on the small picture of Roxton that lay by her pillow. "My, my...." Suddenly serious again, he moved to pick it up. Her breath caught in her throat.  
  
"Put it down," her tone was low and deadly. The man was stupid - or perhaps he'd just had no experience with women like her - not realize he had gone one step too far.  
  
He grinned widely, still angry as hell at her nerve - she had spit in his face, a move which evoked memories he'd tried so hard to forget. "Let's see what _this_ does to your fiery little spirit, eh?" His hand moved slowly, torturously, to the candle flame on her nightstand.   
  
"NO!" Marguerite shrieked, hurling herself at him. They both flew backwards, landing rather heavily on the bed.  
  
"Why, my dear," he said cavalierly, his good humor returning unexpectedly. "I never knew you felt that way." This was shaping up to be quite an interesting excursion - such a nice break from the routine robberies of his life that he could almost forgive her for a misstep that might have been tragic otherwise.   
  
Her first urge was to rip the photograph out of his hand, but the possibility of it tearing was far too likely. She wrapped her hands tightly around his neck. "Give it to me," she said grimly. "Or I will kill you with my bare hands."  
  
Silently, he handed it over, his eyes dancing. "Say, who _is_ this fellow?"   
  
Marguerite took the photo carefully, exhaling in relief, the tension in her body ebbing away.   
  
"Did he used to live here? Was one of those unlived-in rooms his?"  
  
Shoving off of the intruder, Marguerite pulled a drawer out violently and grabbed a handful of gleaming gems. "Take it and get out."  
  
Realizing she wasn't going to talk about it, he changed his line of questioning. "Why so generous all of a sudden?"   
  
"I don't need them anymore." She stuffed them into his hands. "Just don't come back."  
  
"Why didn't you kill me when you had the chance?" he badgered, genuinely curious, as she pushed him toward the elevator.  
  
"A few years ago I would have without a thought," Marguerite replied dangerously. "Be thankful I didn't choose to today."  
  
"You know, I don't believe you would have. It's that man, isn't it? He's taught you....the finer points of life, am I right?" His lips curled upward. "This has been quite an amusing afternoon, dear Lady, and for that I thank you." He tipped his hat to her. "Cheerio."  
  
A few minutes later he was gone, and the strength left her quicker than a female raptor runs to save her eggs. "Oh god," she moaned, retrieving Roxton's picture from her shirt, where she'd deposited it before. Right next to her heart. She clutched it tightly, staring forlornly at his face. "Oh John...."  
  
  


***

  
_TO BE CONTINUED...._  
  
Feedback is craved and appreciated! Hope you enjoyed....and stay tuned for the next part, which will actually feature Roxton....unlike this one....whoops....  
  
~ Jaclyn  
  



	4. Part IV

  


**Severed, Part IV**  
By Jaclyn  
_(musicnotej@aol.com; http://www.geocities.com/tlwmr)_  
  


Disclaimer: In a shocking turn of events, it has been discovered that I DON'T own these characters! Can you believe it?! Sources have been whispering that The Lost World and all characters/places/stuff contained therein actually belong to Telescene, New Line, and all the rest. Oh yeah, and yesterday I read on the internet that I'm not making any profit off this story! Isn't that absurd?! PS: But the nameless thief belongs only to me. And so does Lady Roxton's _characterization_.  
  
Author's Notes: I just want to take this opportunity to thank all those lovely, kind people who have read and reviewed this story from the beginning, even though I'm awful about updating in a timely manner. I'm soooo incredibly sorry about that! It's just that I really have absolutely no time anymore....I NEED THE SUMMER. NOW!  
  
  


***

  
  
  
_Marguerite - five months and three weeks after being nearly killed by the rockslide  
    (meaning three weeks after the last chapter ended)
_  
  
  
Marguerite put her book down with a sigh. It was a mushy French novel, a romance.... and one of the more unrealistic ones at that. _I don't think I've ever encountered something quite so stupid_, she mused gloomily. _No wonder I've never bothered to read this book before. At least I had the good sense then to stay away from it. But honestly, what else is there to do without Challenger to send us on some misguided excursion to collect piles and piles of weeds?_  
  
God, how she missed them all. Especially the 'us' - in her head, that had been her and Roxton, going on yet another camping trip. Much as she used to complain, she'd grown to love those little outings - well, only the ones that involved the two of them alone, that is.  
  
The shadow behind her inched nearer, protectively keeping his gun aimed at her.   
  
Marguerite didn't notice. Humming along to the haunting melody she'd set the phonograph to play, Marguerite reached for the photograph Summerlee had taken of Roxton ages ago, the one she never went anywhere without. She gazed sadly at her beloved's face, remembering how his lips had felt against hers....  
  
The music crescendoed, and Marguerite fell back onto her pillow with a sigh. She let her eyes drift closed, intending to lose herself in the lilting tune until sleep claimed her.  
  
"You don't think it's a bit early for bedtime?" a merry voice queried.  
  
Marguerite's eyes flew open. She glared at the handsome stranger in front of her. "YOU again," she grumbled, sitting up.  
  
"Ah ah ah," he warned jovially, gesturing with his chin at the pistol barrel he held in front of him. "No sudden movements."  
  
"Don't tell me those gems I gave you weren't enough. They were worth a fortune!"  
  
"This music is lovely," the intruder remarked thoughtfully, ignoring her indignant comment. "What is it?"  
  
"Chopin. Prelude in E minor. It's called 'Suffocation.' I could be persuaded to show you how that's done, if you'd like. Or maybe I'll just demonstrate anyway, as I'm in a rather foul mood and your presence is making it worse."  
  
He made a face at her. "Nice choice of title, Mr. Chopin. Really."  
  
"What do you want?" she asked pointedly. "I don't have all day."  
  
"Of course not. That would explain why you've been spending it doing absolutely nothing, just-"  
  
"How would YOU know how I spent my day?" she asked suspiciously.  
  
"I've been watching you."  
  
"EXCUSE ME?! Why? If you wanted something, why didn't you just take it and leave? Don't YOU have better ways to spend YOUR time?"  
  
"Well, quite frankly....I'm worried about you. Lying around here moping, staring forlornly at some blurry photograph, listening to music about dying.... I can't in good conscience leave a lady like that!"  
  
"But you can steal from one? You listen here, I don't want your conscience waking up on my account! I'll survive this just as I've survived everything else that life threw at me! I don't need anybody's help, and I certainly don't need your meddling! Now get out of here before I lose my patience and turn a gun on you!"  
  
"How would you possibly get your hands on a gun before my reflexes kicked in and I turned MINE on YOU?"  
  
"Well if I told you that," she snapped. "It wouldn't be too helpful later on, now would it?"  
  
"I have an idea. Why don't you tell me what's wrong? Maybe it'll make you feel better."  
  
She laughed. It wasn't a happy sound. He tried to hide his wince.  
  
"I've had just about enough of you. Get the hell out of my house."  
  
"All right, let's start with the house. Sounds like as good a beginning as any. Who built it? You? Seems unlikely. And why was it built? Why are you here? And why are there so many rooms if there's only one person-"  
  
"Are you KIDDING ME? Just grab a necklace from somewhere and GO already. If you're trying to be amusing, you're failing miserably."  
  
"I'm completely serious. I'm not leaving until you tell me the whole story, and until I've assured myself that you'll be okay. Honestly, you look entirely too-"  
  
"GO AWAY!"  
  
"No!"  
  
She stared at him. "Listen to me. I'm fine. I get dressed every morning, I eat regularly, I exercise, I socialize with the Zanga villagers, I do everything that normal people do. I'm just get a little....nostalgic sometimes, but it's not something you need to worry about. Now _go away_."  
  
"That man in the photograph....is he dead?"  
  
"GOD FORBID!" Marguerite shouted furiously. "Don't even say that!"  
  
"Okay, okay, don't get so worked up. So why isn't he here then? Did he leave you for another woman?"  
  
"Of course not!" Marguerite snapped. But suddenly, a thought crept into her head, one that she'd never allowed herself to think before. _Roxton returns to London a celebrated hero, and all the woman throw themselves at him. He thinks I'm dead, and allows them to try to take his mind off me. Or.... and this thought hurt the most, maybe he never really cared about me to begin with, and he promptly forgot about his 'dear Marguerite' as soon as Miss Perfect Member of London Society touched his arm....   
  
No. That feels wrong. He's waiting for me. I can feel him waiting._  
  
"We were separated by a cave-in," Marguerite told him stiffly. "And this is just making me feel worse, so quit it already and leave me alone."  
  
"Now you've gotten me all curious. I told you I wouldn't leave until I hear the whole story. I never lie."  
  
"Doubtful, considering you're a thief." An overwhelming tiredness swept over Marguerite. She didn't want to argue with this stranger. She just wanted to sleep and dream of Roxton. And the fastest way to do that was to.... "Fine, I'll tell you. Some. I guess it doesn't matter; it's not like I'll ever see you again, RIGHT?!"  
  
"Sure."  
  
Marguerite suddenly felt quite shy. It had taken her years to open up to Roxton and the rest of her adopted family, and now this stranger expected her to just tell all the second time they met? "I don't even know your name."  
  
"And I don't know yours. It's better this way, trust me. You'll be able to speak easier if I remain a nameless stranger who'll disappear from your life forever as soon as you're done."  
  
Marguerite took a deep breath. "I hope you know the only reason I'm doing this is because you're pointing a gun at me."  
  
"Of course," he assured her.   
  
"Okay....here goes...."  
  
  


***

  
  
  
"Hmm," he finally said. "Now you need to realize that your life does not begin and end with Roxton."  
  
"Of course it doesn't. But he's an integral part of it, and I'm just not the same without him."  
  
"Don't move. I'll be right back."  
  
Curious, Marguerite obeyed. He returned a moment later with a piece of paper and a pen.  
  
"Let's go sit down at the table. Write me a list of ten things you like about this plateau that don't relate to Roxton."  
  
She looked at him incredulously. "Are you serious? What is this, elementary school all over again? Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound?"  
  
"Come on, humor me. I think it'll really help," he said genuinely.  
  
"And I think you're out of your mind. No way am I degrading myself-"  
  
"I have the gun, remember?"  
  
"Oh give it up already, you're not going to shoot me," Marguerite said disdainfully as she followed him to the kitchen.  
  
"So? I can still threaten to burn your precious picture."  
  
"You wouldn't do that either," Marguerite informed him, very sure of herself.  
  
"Watch me. It might hurt in the beginning, but you'd get over him a lot faster."  
  
"I don't want to get over him. What would be the point, when I know he's coming back for me as soon as he can? It's only been a few months. He's doing the best he can."  
  
He shook his head, marveling at her. "You know, part of me admires your devotion. He's a very lucky man, this Roxton."  
  
"And I'm very lucky to have found him. But you're not upholding your part of the deal. You were supposed to leave when I finished my story. Well, I just finished. So why are you still here?" She cocked an eyebrow at him. "I thought you never lied."  
  
"That was a lie," he told her with a smile.   
  
Marguerite waited for the surge of anger to fill her. But it never came. _There is something rather charming about him. And getting this whole mess out of my system did help to put it in perspective, I guess. Not that I miss Roxton any less. Still, maybe it was therapeutic. But why aren't I annoyed at him for lying to me? Why aren't I upset that he's still sticking around?_  
  
At that moment, Marguerite realized just how lonely she really was. She bit her lip and stared helplessly at the suave thief looking gently at her. Did he understand her confusion? Was that what his eyes said? But his kind gaze didn't make her feel any better. It wasn't him she was lonely for, it was John.  
  
"Just write," he advised, plunking down on a chair and propping his legs up on the tabletop.  
  
Rolling her eyes, she picked up the pen. For a while, she really did try to think of things that didn't relate to Roxton. She really did....and it took her a good fifteen minutes to think of even one. And after that...._well, I don't *want* to move past Roxton ANYWAY!_  
  
  
    1.sunsets from the treehouse balcony  

    2.meeting Roxton  

    3.those charged bickering sessions with Roxton  

    4.flirting with Roxton  

    5.Roxton kissing me  

    6.kissing Roxton  

    7.hugging Roxton and feeling his arms immediately wrap tightly around me  

    8.leaning against Roxton  

    9.camping with Roxton....sharing body heat  

    10.just....being with Roxton. Knowing he loves me. Knowing I love him.  

    11.PS: and the rest of my family. I miss them too. But it's not quite as desperate.
  
  
    Now that I've shared more personal information with you than I've ever shared with
    anyone except Roxton, Summerlee, and Veronica....now will you leave me alone so I
    can mope in peace???
  
  
  
"No," he stated calmly, after looking up from her list. "I'm worried about you."  
  
"Oh no you're not....you're just bored. Looking for a damsel in distress to save. Well, let me tell you something....I'm not a damsel, and I won't want your heroics. Go find some young maiden somewhere, someone who's had an easier life than me. She won't know how to deal with her newfound trouble, and she'll actually need you."  
  
"I think you need me. If only to rant to, you need me."  
  
"You're not going to leave no matter what I say, are you?" Marguerite sighed. "No matter how nasty I am."  
  
"I know you don't mean it."  
  
"I do so!" she snapped defensively.  
  
"Liar," he egged her on. "I've seen _squirrels_ with more ferocity in their eyes than you."  
  
"WHAT ARE YOU IMPLYING?!" she shrieked, sending her chair tumbling as she jumped up. _Did he just call me weak?_ The old instincts that had kept her alive in the dangerous dealings of her past kicked in. _Use the element of surprise and speed to your advantage. Make sure he ends up on the ground, looking up at you. You'll be in a better bargaining position that way._  
  
Marguerite didn't think, she just moved. She charged at him, sending his gun flying across the room and knocking him to the floor. Echoing her actions from the first time she'd met him, she straddled his body and wrapped her hands threateningly around his neck. "How's THAT for weak?"  
  
"I knew it," he choked out, struggling for breath. "Why would you keep doing this if you didn't?"  
  
"Didn't what?" she prodded suspiciously.   
  
He looked straight at her and said simply, "Feel something for me."  
  
In her shock, her hands loosened, and he surged upwards, catching her lips full on in an impassioned kiss. Marguerite's eyes widened as she struggled desperately to pull away. But his arms around her were like a vise, and he didn't seem to realize that she wasn't kissing him back.  
  
Marguerite finally resorted to shoving a fist into his stomach, as much to get his attention as to buy her a few seconds to escape.   
  
"Why did you DO that?" she cried furiously, wrenching away.  
  
"Wha-I-thought you-wanted it too...." he stuttered.  
  
"HELLO?! HAVE YOU NOT BEEN PAYING ATTENTION?! I JUST WROTE AN ENTIRE LIST ABOUT **_ROXTON!!_**"  
  
"Yes, but....I thought it was just habit. You've been yearning for him for so long that I thought it had turned into a matter of routine, that you just liked wallowing so much that you did it as a matter of course. I didn't think you really cared for him anymore."  
  
For an instant, Marguerite felt the slightest stab of fear in her stomach. Was is possible that he was right? Could that really be true? She pictured Roxton in her mind, remembering the way they would stand at the balcony sometimes, late at night when everyone else was asleep. He would drape an arm across her waist, his palm reaching around to cup her hip, pulling her toward him. She would rest her head on his shoulder, and together they would stare at the stars, not speaking, simply sharing a comfortable moment alone.  
  
Marguerite felt her eyes prickle at the memory. Oh yes, this stranger was definitely wrong. Her feelings for Roxton had not faded in the least. If anything, they'd grown stronger as she'd realized belatedly how much she needed him. Once she'd admitted that to herself, it had been so easy to love him. If only he were here so she could tell him that....  
  
"I love Roxton," Marguerite said simply. "Your naïve little fantasies won't ever change that. Now leave." Her voice was cold as she stood up and walked back to the table. "I don't ever want to see you again, and next time you come back I really _will_ shoot you for what you've just done. Could you imagine if Roxton had come back at just this moment and seen me with another man?"  
  
"I'm sorry," he said softly.  
  
"You should be. Goodbye."  
  
The intruder picked himself up off the ground and dusted himself off. "I really am sorry."  
  
She relented. "Fine. I accept your apology. Now please go before you make things even worse."  
  
Dejected, he got into the elevator. "I meant it when I said Roxton was a very lucky man, to have someone like you. And for your sake, I hope he comes for you. But if he doesn't....maybe we'll meet again."  
  
The elevator descended slowly. First his knees vanished from view, then his hips, then his chest. She knew he was waiting for her to say something.   
  
Marguerite stayed silent. When his head finally disappeared from her line of sight, she whispered, "Of course he'll come for me. Of course he will. Don't say it like that, whoever you were. Of course he'll come."   
  
She turned away from the elevator and looked out towards the horizon. "Where are you already, John?" she fretted. "I'm staring to get scared."  
  
  


***

  
  
  
_Roxton - five months and three weeks after the rockslide   
    (meaning Roxton's and Marguerite's parts of the chapter take place synonymously)
_  
  
The sun beat down mercilessly on John Roxton's shoulders. He wiped a calloused hand across his brow, then flung the droplets of sweat off his knuckles and into the softly rippling water of the Amazon river.  
  
Behind him, Veronica was smiling happily. "It feels so nice to feel the real heat of the sun again. In London you could barely even see it because of the smog, let alone feel it on your skin," she chatted happily.  
  
Roxton grunted. "Glad you're enjoying yourself." _Was the sun always this hot? Or did I just spend too much time moping in the cool darkness of my room?_  
  
"Let me guess, Veronica....the first thing you're going to do when we get back is stretch out on the beach and bask in the sun like a cat."  
  
"Of course not, silly....I'm going to give Marguerite a hug so huge that sh-"  
  
"That's assuming she's-" Challenger cut himself off nearly as quickly as he had interrupted Veronica. He glanced nervously at Roxton, hunched over his oars in the front of the canoe. "I mean....forget it."  
  
"You better forget it, Challenger," Roxton growled. "And soon enough, you'll get your indisputable scientific proof." _In the form of my beautiful Marguerite, probably wondering what the hell took us so long. Damn Zoological Society and their 'protective regulations!'_   
  
"I sure hope so, John," the scientist admitted. "This is one instance where I'd give anything to be wrong."  
  
The trio settled into silence once again. Only the faint splash of the oars plunging into the waves could be heard.  
  
_Whatever you're doing now, Marguerite_, John thought. _Just know I'm coming for you._  
  
  


***

  
  
  
_Marguerite_   
  
The sky was turning orange. Marguerite allowed herself one last longing look in the direction of the faraway world that had taken John Roxton from her, and then she silently turned away.   
  
Wishing she still remembered how to be numb, as she had been in the old days before the Challenger expedition, Marguerite descended down the elevator to the yard outside. She hurried, as the sun was about to go down and plunge the plateau into a darkness that had the potential to be fatal.  
  
Marguerite methodically pinned up her laundry on the clothesline to dry, wondering - as she did every night - whether tomorrow would be the day that this hell on earth would at last be resolved....either with Roxton finally joining her, or with her own lonely death at the hands of some prehistoric beast.  
  
"Please let it be the former," she said aloud. "God? If you're listening, I know we've never been close....but please, _please_, don't make me die alone without ever having seen him again. Please."  
  
  


***

  
  
  
_Roxton - 6 months after the rockslide  
    (meaning one week after the preceding part of this chapter)
_  
  
Roxton reached out a tentative hand towards the fabric.   
  
His breathing came in shallow gasps as his fingers made contact. _This isn't a dream. All of this....this is definitely real._  
  
He stared reverently at the shirt. It was _hers_. He'd never been so happy to see a still-damp lavender blouse in all his life.  
  
His Marguerite was alive.  
  
Almost shaking with relief and joy, Roxton put one foot in front of the other and made his way to the elevator that would reunite him with his lost, but not forgotten, love.  
  
  


***

  
  
  
_TO BE CONTINUED_  
  
Okay, so that chapter really stunk. I'm sorry. I wrote it with a mild fever, so that might have something to do with it. But at least I wrote it at all....I suppose I should thank that nasty 24-hour bug because it's what finally gave me time to write. But yuck. I'm only posting this so I'll finally be able to get to the *really* fun part - the reunion!!!   
  
And yes, the nameless thief really *does* have a point in this story. You'll see. Just bear with me. I know I take a really long time between chapters, but RL is very hectic right now. Once again, I'm so sorry....but please don't desert me. I feed on reviews.... :)  
  
PS: The next chapter, the reunion, is almost done! This time, I really mean it when I say it should be up in a few days....   
  
  



	5. Part V

  


**Severed, Part V**  
By Jaclyn  
_(musicnotej@aol.com; http://www.geocities.com/tlwmr)_  
  


Disclaimer: In a shocking turn of events, it has been discovered that I DON'T own these characters! Can you believe it?! Sources have been whispering that The Lost World and all characters/places/stuff contained therein actually belong to Telescene, New Line, and all the rest. Oh yeah, and yesterday I read on the internet that I'm not making any profit off this story! Isn't that absurd?!  
PS: But the nameless thief belongs only to me. And so does Lady Roxton's _characterization_.  
  
Author's Notes: I just want to take this opportunity to thank all those lovely, kind people who have read and reviewed this story from the beginning, even though I'm awful about updating in a timely manner. I'm soooo incredibly sorry about that! Like really, REALLY sorry! It's just that I really have absolutely no time anymore....I NEED THE SUMMER. NOW!  
  
I also want to send a HUGE 'thank you' in Zakiyah's direction. She did an INCREDIBLE job betaing this chapter. And she's a fun email buddy too, hehe ;-)   
  
  


***

  
  
  
It started out like any other day.  
  
Marguerite had just finished washing her breakfast dishes, and after wiping the remaining suds from her hands, she turned to go retrieve her book from her room. Halfway there, however, the scraping sound of the elevator punctured the silence, and Marguerite stopped in her tracks.  
  
Her face darkened, and she resisted the urge to stomp her foot petulantly.  
  
"I thought I told you to stay away!" she yelled wildly, still not turning. _I won't give him that dignity._  
  
This had not been the reaction Lord John Roxton was expecting.   
  
"What?!" he asked, bewildered, taking a step forward. The word sounded strangled; he could barely breathe. The sight of her....long, dark hair wild and curling....the smooth material of her clothing hugging her curves in a gentle caress....the way she still, after all this time, _stood_ in the same manner: holding herself straight and proud....  
  
At his befuddled exclamation, Marguerite's spine had gone rigid. He remained silent, speechless. He'd been waiting for this moment for so long that now that it had come, all he wanted to do was soak it up....  
  
The only sound was her sharp, gasping intake of breath as she recognized his voice immediately. How could she not, when it was all she had dreamed of ever since they'd parted?  
  
"J-John?" she queried tremulously, staring fixedly at a spot on the horizon, afraid to turn and find nothing. _This could be a hallucination_, she lectured herself. _I could have inhaled something...._  
  
"Marguerite," he whispered, his voice breaking. "My god, Marguerite!"  
  
"John!" she shrieked, whirling around and breaking into a run. He caught only a glimpse of her wide-eyed, tear-streaked face before it was buried against his neck. Her body pressed tightly against his as she swept her hands over his clothes, feeling the reassuringly-solid muscles underneath. "Are you real? Are you real?" she whimpered frantically, over and over.  
  
With gentle fingers, he eased her face out of the hollow where his neck and shoulder joined. Their eyes locked. She blinked once, twice.   
  
"John," Marguerite began incredulously, yet she sounded remarkably calm now - more sure of herself. "I'm not dreaming, am I." It was a statement, not a question.  
  
"No," he murmured euphorically, holding her tightly. "Although I have to admit, I've had this dream before....the one where I'm finally united with my beloved."  
  
"I never got to tell you," she said softly. "But I love you too, Lord John Richard Roxton."  
  
Roxton's eyes glistened with tears, and he didn't bother blinking them away. The hunter brought a hand up to gently caress her cheek.   
  
"Oh Marguerite.... this is all I've thought about every day since we were separated," Roxton said sincerely, locking his gaze with hers. His eyes were bright with both remembered pain and a newly rediscovered joy. "I love you, with every breath in my body, I love you!"  
  
"John!" his name tore from her throat and she surged up to meet the lips that were descending on her. Coherent speech became nearly impossible at the prospect of finally being _together_ again, in the truest sense of the word. "Missed you....love you love you love you...."  
  
And then their worlds exploded, bursting into something more spectacular than either would have believed possible. Neither had ever experienced a joy, a love, as strong as this one. Their kiss was fervent, wild, and tender all at once. Time seemed to stop as it simultaneously stretched into forever.   
  
But amid the frenzied embracing and the blissful whimpering....both Marguerite and Roxton finally experienced something that they had never thought could exist for either of them.  
  
Peace.   
  
  


***

  
  
  
Finally, breathless, Marguerite broke the kiss. It hadn't been the first time she'd cried over him, but it had been the first time she cried _in front_ of him. His gentle fingers reached out and caressed the trail her tears left.  
  
"Oh Marguerite, Marguerite! Oh my darling, my beautiful....I...." Roxton wasn't really surprised to find that his own eyes stung. "I'm never leaving your side for the rest of our lives."  
  
Marguerite couldn't tear her gaze away from his face, the face that had haunted her dreams and filled her thoughts during the day. "I knew you'd come....I knew....but it was so _long_...." Her whispered voice cracked painfully. "I'm never letting you out of my sight...."   
  
The elevator creaked. They both knew they had only a moment more before they were no longer alone. Roxton kissed her forehead. She rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady, reassuring pulse of his heartbeat.  
  
"Marguerite!" Veronica cried.  
  
Heart wrenching at the thought of letting her go, Roxton's arms fell to his sides with one last caress of her back. Marguerite whirled around, her face breaking into a smile so large she thought it would just fall off her face and be done with it.   
  
"VERONICA!" The two women raced toward each other at breakneck speed, throwing their arms around each other's necks. At this point, Marguerite lost all powers of intelligible speech, merely shrieking along with Veronica for a few moments as they danced around, spinning in circles, still wrapped tightly in their hug.  
  
"Marguerite, I never thought I'd see you again!" Veronica squealed, her voice high and excited. The feel of Marguerite's shoulders was reassuringly solid, and the wondrous reality of her survival suddenly sank in, robbing Veronica of breath. "You're alive...."  
  
"Of course I am....you didn't think I'd give you back your treehouse _that_ easily, did you?" Marguerite felt as if her knees were on the verge of buckling. A few minutes ago she had been giddy with excitement; now she was almost weak with it.  
  
Veronica pulled away slightly so she could look the other woman in the eyes. She looked a little worse for wear with some new scars, but her eyes looked the same, if only a little sadder around the edges. "Oh Marguerite....it's your treehouse too. We're family."  
  
Marguerite hugged her tighter. "I never told you, and I should have....I've thought of you as the sister I never had for a long, long time."  
  
"Me too...."  
  
The two women squealed again like little children, laughing and crying.  
  
Challenger, meanwhile, watched this exchange happily. He'd never been so glad to have been wrong in his entire life!   
  
Veronica finally regained a bit of her sense. "Marguerite, Challenger's here too."  
  
"Cha--" Then she caught a glimpse of him over Veronica's shoulder, standing out of the way near the elevator. "CHALLENGER!!!" She ran over, squeezing him tightly in a hug he returned with equal zeal.  
  
"Oh my dear girl....I'm so glad you're safe. Things were so bleak for a while."  
  
"Don't I know it," she muttered.  
  
"Oooh, I'm just so happy!" Veronica burst out suddenly, practically singing the words. "Marguerite, I knew you were tenacious, but how on earth did you manage to survive?"  
  
Marguerite's smile froze. "The Zanga saved me," she said in a rather strained voice.  
  
Roxton watched the excited joy on Marguerite's face flicker for a moment as she remembered those hellish months. He quickly went to her side and wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. "We can deal with the serious issues later. For now, let's have some lunch and just enjoy each other's company."  
  
Marguerite leaned into him, a contented smile on her face. "Sounds wonderful. The company around here has been seriously lacking - raptors have horrible table manners, and the apemen just flat-out try to destroy the table!"  
  
"No one has a sense of humor quite like yours," Challenger chuckled, shaking his head.  
  
"But Challenger....that wasn't a joke!" Marguerite deadpanned. "Once a week, I host an open feast at the treehouse....it's become quite popular. Creatures from all over the plateau come and-"  
  
Roxton found himself unable to tear his eyes away from her. "God, how I missed you...." he murmured into her hair, pulling her closer.   
  
Marguerite abruptly cut off her tale in favor of voicing a more important sentiment. "Me too. All of you. You know, it's funny, my whole life, I've always known immediately what to say, but now...." She started to sound very frail, very fragile. The explorers looked at her and at each other worriedly.   
  
"There's just so MUCH...." Marguerite mumbled vaguely as she sagged against Roxton, letting him support her. She still hadn't regained all of her previous strength, and now that the adrenaline rush had abated, Marguerite was feeling very weak.  
  
"We brought things back for you, Marguerite," Veronica said abruptly into the awkward, anxious silence that had developed. "From Harrod's."  
  
"Ohhh," Marguerite breathed happily. "That's wonderful....I've been running awfully low on-" She sobered. "But for the record - the fact that you've returned makes me a lot happier than the fact that you brought things with you."  
  
Everyone smiled widely at that.  
  
"And....you'll be pleased to know that I've actually taught myself to cook rather well in the absence of what every household needs - a Veronica!" Marguerite shook her head. "Necessity does strange things to people. I actually enjoy it now!"  
  
"Now there's something I thought I'd never hear!" Roxton remarked dryly.  
  
"And here's something everyone else probably SHOULD hear...." Marguerite said, drawing herself up. She squeezed Roxton's hand, felt her strength returning in waves, and then held up their clasped hands for all to see. "Roxton and I are in love. I just thought you all should know."  
  
And with that rather obvious revelation dropped, Marguerite strode into the kitchen area, Roxton in tow. The other two followed, varying degrees of delight and amusement on their faces.  
  
  


***

  
  
The End!  
  
For now, that is. A sequel dealing with the effects of the separation is in the works. I just wanted to take a break from this storyline and post some of my other fics that are currently lounging around on my hard drive. (For those keeping count, the total is now 105. Yes, you don't have to say it; I know.)  
  
Thank you all for reading and reviewing....and for dealing with the annoyingly long time it takes for me to update! But now that the summer is coming, I'm going to have a lot more time! *dances around* So don't be surprised if you suddenly find FFN flooded with fics with my name on them.... :)  
  
And remember....I always return the favor of reviews! *hint hint*  
  



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